Last October 7th, when I turned 40, I spent the day tending to my youngest, who was recovering from a, not-so-minor, out-patient procedure he had done that morning. While I would not recommend celebrating your own birthday in that way, I have to admit, it absolutely kept me from focusing on myself, and the fact that I had entered my FORTIES.

I’ve never been afraid of forty. But admittedly, it still stuns me, at times, that I am in this decade of my life.

At that time, I considered writing something about turning 40, but I stopped myself, because, let’s admit it, I was no expert on 40. All I knew was based on hearsay, and emotion, not, necessarily, reality. I was a mere baby in terms of what I knew and felt about it. I suppose I still am, but I feel a bit more qualified to speak on it now that I’m ‘older and wiser’… *cough*. Or something.

The last several years have all been magical for many reasons, but this year, the year from 40 to 41, has helped me solidify my belief that I am stronger than I ever realized. It’s been a long, hard, winding road getting to this point, but I love going along it. Sometimes, I want to run ahead and know what’s around the next bend, other times, I want to straggle behind and linger in the moment. But I’m always – always – thankful for every moment of it.

Because, I know where I’ve been.

The week I turned 30, my baby girl turned one and we closed on our first home. While there were many cracks already showing, my 30s appeared, from the outside, to be off to a picture-perfect start.

Nearly everything changed from 30 to 40. So much was given and so much was taken away. Sometimes, I feel as though I lived 20 lifetimes in that decade. It was a difficult one, on many levels. I wrote about it a lot on this blog, before the bottom fell out (again), but if you were to go back and look for them, you might not know it. I white-washed much of it. I wanted to find meaning in all of the difficulties, and the suffering. I wanted, desperately, for it to have been for a reason. I needed to find that reason and know it. But, it’s not always easy to see or understand. Sometimes, it just takes faith.

My 30s were built on faith. That was all I had. My 40s are being built on hope.

I am realizing what is meant by older and wiser. I wish it came with a few less wrinkles and sags, but I am trying to embrace those as well.

There are countless variables in life, and I know that anything can happen, at any moment. I see it every day. And that is where the lessons of my 30s, those built on faith, become invaluable. If I didn’t have those, I would be living in fear, because I’ve seen too much happen, and I know what can happen.

But I also know the beauty that can come from those very things; when the wounds become scars.

A wound is messy and always susceptible to being reopened or infected. A scar is where it has healed; a reminder of what was and what is. It does not have to be a shameful reminder.

Running has been a close friend for most of my life. I was one of the fastest runners in my elementary school. I ran track in high school. I ran for fun in college. I ran to lose the baby fat after my babies were born. I ran to stave off panic attacks and depression. I ran for clarity in the days leading up to my divorce. I ran for sanity after it. It’s my time to think. Clear my head. I feel good and free when I run.

Except when I don’t.

Recently, my runs have become sporadic and more difficult. This saddens me, because, regardless of the reasons, I was doing so well in my stamina, distance and endurance for so many years. One of my goals around the age of 35 was to run a marathon by the time I was 40. I turn 41 in less than two months, and I haven’t run one. At this point, a 5K wouldn’t be worth the entry fee.

I am not where I want to be with my running. At all. And it frustrates me.

Maybe it means that my reasons for running have changed.

I’m no longer running away. Or towards something. Or for sanity (ok… that’s questionable…) But I still need the stress relief; the health benefits.

Holy cow, do I need the stress relief. And did I mention I’m almost 41? Hello, belly fat, that won’t go away!

So I’m thinking about documenting it more online here. I dunno know… But I do need accountability. I just know I need to do it, just like I need to Just Write.

Life gets busy, and stressful, but I don’t want to roll over and let it stomp all over me.

I’ve been sick since Thursday. It was hardly anything worth noting on that day, but I went to bed that night hoping for the best, but fearing the worst.

I was actually able to get a run in on Friday, and again, went to bed hoping for the best, but fearing the worst.

Saturday arrived and Randy’s mom and dad came over for breakfast. Despite orders to stand clear of me, I was certain I was on the mend.

Until 4pm…I’m gonna go lay down for a bit.

Which turned into: I think we should have Mother’s Day dinner tonight. Only to not be able to eat it. The sinus pressure was so bad, I felt nauseous. (I did get to hear 5 of the sweetest toasts ev.er. Oh, how I wished I had a recording of them all…)

I was in bed by 7. Slept horribly and fitfully between coughing spells.

By Sunday, it had climaxed into fever, aches and pains all over, coughing… the works.

One might think such a day would be utterly ruined by the flu. But in many ways, it was the most authentically real Mother’s Day. They make me feel so special, loved and appreciated every single day, that it didn’t matter that I was sick in bed on Mother’s Day.

The best gift? Knowing how amazingly blessed I am and how super awesome my family is. I know that they love me, were concerned about me and missed me. Being able to just be sick and have my family understand and function smoothly without me is priceless.

It’s the terrain, the view, the cool dampness of the air. The edge of the trail meeting the edge of the hill. From here, I’m able to look out and around, and clear my mind’s eye.

Stress is falling off; being scattered behind me on the trail.

The ground crunches below, as though stomping out my worries and concerns.

The trail behind is long. But, if I let myself, I’m never far from recalling what I’ve left along it.

The emptiness of the trail evokes a certain sound in my mind… a ‘blip’, like the sound a machine might make as it turns off to reboot.
Cursor blinking.
Then stopping.
Blank screen.
Nothing.

Stress brings about many things and the image of gray hair from worry, is enough to propel me forward.

It’s been a while since I’ve de-stressed in this way. A while since the “blip” from a reboot has been heard.

That’s what running the trail arouses inside of me. Not the ability to eat unlimited amounts of greek yogurt. Not the trim physique that is reflected from the mirror. Not the fit of my jeans.The sanity. The sanity that is saved when I run hard enough to make all of the worries and stresses fall away.

I crunch them into the ground.

It’s not just a figurative thing. It feels quite literal.

“My designs aren’t good enough.”

crunch…

“I let people down.”

crunch…

“My thighs are too big.”

crunch…

“I need to be perfect.”

cccrrrrruuuunch….

The trail. It is so much more than just dirt and gravel.

There is anticipation inside, as I consider what lies ahead along that trail. And what is left behind…

There is nothing like it. And there is no better way to start a Tuesday morning.